I visited Hokkaido in late July. The sea of Shakotan is of clearest cobalt blue. A sloping hiking path to the Cape Kamui has a fenced ridge along the top that accentuates it like a dinosaur's scales. Rocks stick out of the foaming sea below. From high above, many of them look like tortoise shells. Others resemble giant vulvas, or perhaps slice-opened abalones. Crashing waves, seagulls gliding above the blue sea, fruit beetles, longhorn beetles, giant hogweed, the rosehip: life is brimming left and right.
At the promontory’s end a modest lighthouse sits. Locked down for decades now. There is a weather-beaten metal plaque screwed onto the white wall. The text on it begins with a haiku, of all things:
I resent you,
O divine power, why do you stop
a
woman's feet?
(Esashi Oiwake)
This cryptic poem is elucidated by the following:
Cape Kamui, while offering visitors scenic beauty, was historically known as one of the treacherous capes of western Ezo (Hokkaido), a place of significant navigation. When the lighthouse was built in 1888 (Meiji 21), three staff members worked there, and reaching the lighthouse involved a 1km-long, steep mountain path from the village of Yobetsu, involving repeated ascents and descents. In particular, as you approach the cape, there are several terrifying spots where a single misstep could send you tumbling into the sea, making it extremely difficult for children and women. Lighthouse staff, their families, and visitors would typically hop across large rocks to navigate. Life involved collecting rainwater for daily use. In those days, lamps were used for lighting, and self-sufficiency in food was essential. Rice, miso, soy sauce, and salt were purchased using a wooden boat.
On the
Emperor's birthday in October 1912, the lighthouse keeper with his wife and
their three-year-old second son were swept away by a huge wave on their way to
Yoichi to buy celebratory food items. The villagers, deeply saddened, decided
to cooperate in digging a tunnel. Armed with chisels, hammers, and tools like
hoes to carry the excavated rocks, they gathered and, in the pitch darkness
where no light could reach, continued digging with just one chisel at a time.
After seven years, in 1918, the Nenbutsu Tunnel was completed, ensuring the
safety of the lighthouse staff, their families and pets.
The
Kamui Cape Lighthouse had been maintained by 90 staff members in total, until
it became unmanned in 1960.
I felt for the family of three and for the people involved in the digging. I stood there in awe at the risk-taking and the sacrifice of the villagers. I wondered about the tunnel too. During my hike, I did not notice any tunnels let alone walked through one. The next few days the idea of a mysterious tunnel couldn’t leave my head, so I sat down to try and find information related to the tunnel and the tragic incident. There were no sources available in English and a precious few in Japanese. In the end I managed to collect bits and pieces from local governmental sites, personal blogs, and video records (I found three videos taken by different people who located the tunnel and actually walked through it). That the information is relatively limited suggests to me that the history of this unique tunnel has gone on pretty much unknown for decades. The following is a summary of my findings.
Nenbutsu Tunnel
Nenbutsu Tunnel (念仏トンネル) is a historic, hand-dug pedestrian tunnel located near Cape Kamui in Shakotan.
In the past, the coastal road along the Cape Kamui was
fraught with danger from snow and waves, and it was an extremely difficult road
where you couldn't let your guard down even for a moment. Walking up and down
these cliffs sounds inhumane to modern sensibilities. On October 29, 1912, the
lighthouse keeper, together with his wife and their second son, were on their
way to a nearby village wanting to make a purchase to celebrate the Emperor's
birthday. The family of three were swept away by the rough waves and drowned in
the sea.
Not wanting this kind of incident to ever repeat, local people decided to build a tunnel, and they started digging on both sides of the hill. However, due to the rudimentary implements used, a discrepancy arose in the centre of the tunnel, even though it is only about 50 meters long. Because workers dug from both sides and misaligned, the tunnel bends at a right angle, making it completely dark for a large portion. The tunnel was named after a Buddhist chant as people chanted prayers (nenbutsu) to brave the pitch-black, bent interior. Feeling along the rough, unlined rock walls to get through, the villagers chanted prayers and rang bells from both sides to determine their direction. After six years of digging, the Nenbutsu Tunnel was completed in 1918.
The Nenbutsu Tunnel is curved at a right angle in the centre, making it impossible to see the exit, and the narrow, cavernous tunnel is completely dark in the middle. Due to driftwood the tunnel has been getting narrower over the years so that one has to hunch over in order to walk through. However, one Japanese man (Steel-san) claims that back in the early 1970s he rode his motorcycle through the Nenbutsu tunnel, then up the stone steps leading to Cape Kamui! The ride had been advertised by Yamaha as part of their promotion of the trail bike DT-1, a best-selling model at the time. Steel-san backs his claim with photos both of the Yamaha campaign posters, and black-and-white snaps showing a bunch of bikers entering the tunnel and ascending the S-shaped stone staircase leading up to the lighthouse. A press clipping after one such bike tour goes like this:
The footpath below the towering cliffs is littered with boulders large enough to hug. They're slippery when wet from the ocean spray, but you have to skilfully control your weight to get through. After passing through a tunnel about the height of a person, a stone staircase leads to the lighthouse.
"This
might be a bit much," the bikers hesitated for a moment, but encouraged by
their successful attempt at Showa Shinzan, they decided to tackle the winding
stairs. "This is the first time we've ever come up this far on
motorcycles!"
When
they stopped the engine, the trail route on top of the cliff, with the faint
sound of waves below, was like a painting.
It was a
daunting sight.
Adventurous times they were. It’s hard to imagine such a campaign being organized these days, with all the safety rules and regulations in place. Not surprisingly then, Nenbutsu tunnel has been closed to the public due to ‘rockfall risks’.
The following is a selection of testimonies of people who visited the tunnel in more recent history:
· I walked the same route and passed through the Nenbutsu Tunnel about 50 years ago. I remember there being a well-maintained walking path and bare light bulbs lit inside the tunnel. The dry Tateiwa rock formation against the snowy landscape made for a picturesque scene. In this area, there are fewer than three days of calm waves throughout the winter.
· I visited the Nenbutsu Tunnel several times in the 80s. With no cell phones or lights, I had to feel the walls as I made my way through. At that time, after exiting the tunnel and following the coastline, there were stairs leading up to the current walking path, but those stairs have now collapsed.
· I used to go there almost every year about 50 to 60 years ago. Cape Kamui offers a spectacular view. On the way there, I walked along the coast through the Nenbutsu Tunnel, and on the way back, I walked along a narrow mountain path. I fondly remember the dark, winding Nenbutsu Tunnel and the narrow coastline that was barely passable when the waves were high.
· In the summer of 1982, during my first six years in Hokkaido due to a job transfer, I spontaneously decided to take a day trip to Shakotan (Cape Kamui). I even drove through the Toyohama Tunnel which later collapsed. I went without any prior research so I didn't know about the Nenbutsu Tunnel and didn't have any lights. I felt my way along the rocky cliff face, but then the tunnel suddenly curved and became dark. The view from the top of the cape afterward is still etched in my memory, even 40 years later. Wishing to see the same view again, I visited Cape Kamui a few years later. The walking path was closed though due to falling rocks, and I couldn't reach the Nenbutsu Tunnel.
· I passed through the tunnel 35 years ago. Since I didn't have a light source, I made my way through the pitch darkness, clinging to the wall, to Cape Kamui. Along the way, a huge boulder had fallen beside the walking path, and looking up, I saw a hollow where the boulder had likely been lodged. The tunnel was quite a distance from the entrance to the walking path, wasn't it? Memories become hazy with time.
· I've been to Cape Kamui several times, but I didn't know that such a tragic incident had occurred at the lighthouse. That the Nenbutsu Tunnel was dug because of it gives a glimpse into the hardships endured by the people who dug it. There used to be a song about lighthouse keepers, and I imagine the hardships they and their families endured were immense. Nowadays, ships sailing offshore use GPS to determine their position, so I hear that most lighthouses have largely fulfilled their original purpose.
· It is unfortunate that the coastal promenade is now closed due to the risk of falling rocks, and the Nembutsu Tunnel is no longer accessible. Hand-dug tunnels remain throughout the Shakotan Peninsula, a reminder of the hardships of those who came before them.
· A friend of my boss was fishing in the back of Nenbutsu when he heard a thud. He turned around and saw a bloodied person lying on the ground who had jumped from Kamui. As the first person to discover it, he didn't want to get involved, so he ran away in a panic.
·
When I went for a walk with my father and brother
on the bustling Kamui Promenade, I peered over the rocks from a spot they
called a jumping spot. They severely
scolded me, telling me not to look because I might get pulled in. My boss was a
seasoned and highly skilled fisherman, but was swept away by the waves and
died. Sometimes brown bears appear. A friend of a colleague uploaded a photo of
a brown bear that appeared at a fishing spot nearby.
The last testimony neatly leads me to brown bears, more specifically their treatment in the Ainu folklore. Preparing a post on it. Should be out in a few days.
Images of Cape Kamui. In the top two photos, the Nenbutsu tunnel entrance can be just made out at the bottom of the promontory. The abandoned S-shaped staircase is clearly seen in the third photo.
One intrepid man walking through the tunnel in 2022, despite the ban: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FE13u1BZQjg